


bright side of strange

by royal_chandler



Category: I Am Number Four (2011)
Genre: Extended Scene, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royal_chandler/pseuds/royal_chandler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four’s tempted to tell him everything. It’s a familiar feeling, the incredible want to let everything go and share his troubles, to be honest with someone and be understood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bright side of strange

**Author's Note:**

> I do not have an extensive knowledge of the Lorien Legacies franchise, I’ve only watched the film and that was just yesterday. So I apologize for anything that comes off as extremely inaccurate—beware of the ignorance. Basically I saw cute boys with chemistry and fell hard.

“You alright?” Four asks as he follows Sam into the locker room.

Sam jerks the lever of the paper towel dispenser and makes a futile attempt at cleaning his hands before responding with, “I’m fine. They’re just stupid assholes.” He tosses the used wad in the nearby trashcan. “Believe it or not, they’ve done a lot worse.”

A number of unpleasant images come to Four’s mind at those words. His imagination lends him different scenarios that aren’t as harmless as red paint. The twinge and recollective expression on Sam’s face indicate a more severe torment. And it’s hot, the anger that starts under Four’s skin. He bites on his lip hard in an attempt to contain a fraction of the heat. A beat later and more calm, he says, “That doesn’t make it right. Mark’s not going to get away with it.”

Laughing with more sarcasm than breath, Sam replies, “Oh really? Because he has for three years. I’ve been handling it for three years.” He shifts his eyes to the floor and in a tone that doesn’t quite fit him, he suggests, “Maybe you should just stop associating with me? You know, keep your distance or something.”

“Is that what you want, Sam?” The question comes out before Four has a chance to really think about the implications lying under it—innocent. He doesn’t register how much the answer matters until a dreadful silence follows.

Whether it’s refusal to answer or because of a loss for words, Four doesn’t know but Sam stays quiet. The teen keeps his head in the neck of his sodden shirt and kicks at the ground, at something that’s not there. He looks alone and, tragically Four notes, perfectly at peace with it.

Four’s gut clenches at that and he’s not sure why he feels hurt, a little betrayed. Swallowing with a lump filled throat, he says, “Okay. Yeah. I mean, if that’s how you want it. I can just—”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Sam responds finally. He levels his gaze to Four’s and shrugs. “Either way they’re going to keep heckling me and getting in my face. _Rearranging_ my face.” He turns toward the sink and pulls his shirt off, balling it inside out before shoving it into his backpack.

Mildly distracted by the movement, Four shakes his head, mouth and jaw fixed. “Not while I’m around, they’re not.”

Sam snorts and starts the tap, messes with the soap.

“I mean it,” Four promises, fitting his fingers over Sam’s bony shoulder. There's a warmth that he didn’t expect. Although he can’t pinpoint exactly where the determination comes from, he continues in a low voice, “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

His friend tenses underneath the touch and his dark eyes catch Four’s in the mirror. They stare only briefly before Sam looks to Four’s hand, clearly uncomfortable. After Four removes it, Sam begins washing his hands with a more relaxed frame. “You’ve got an exaggerated sense of self, you know that?”

Four doesn’t bother to hide his confusion. “What?”

“You genuinely have no idea,” Sam tells him, sounding slightly amused and fond. “Makes it even more annoying. This hero complex you have going on—I just. I don’t need or want your protection, John. You standing up for me just makes me feel like even more of a loser. I wouldn’t mind being your friend but your damsel in distress? I’ll pass on that one.”

“I’m sorry,” Four offers, shamed and uncertain of what else to say.

However, Sam’s smile brightens, obviously pleased with that simple answer. 

When his face and upper body are cleared of red paint but still flushed pink, he wheels around. “Trust me, okay? I’m not worth putting up a fight for.” He means to lighten the mood, try for a joke but Four doesn’t find it funny and he opens his mouth to stress just that but Sam beats him. “We need to get some fucking clothes. Listen, I’ll head out and find something. You wash up while I’m out.” Checking his wristwatch, he adds, “We’ve got like ten minutes until this lunch break is over.” And giving Four no time to even blink, he leaves.

In his absence, the skin of Four’s hand starts to sing, pulse in an unfamiliar but exciting rhythm. 

“Raided lost and found,” Sam announces once he returns. He arrives at Four’s side with a brown sweater more fitting for an elderly home than a high school’s lost and found. Outdated would be an understatement. “Nobody loses anything cool.”

Taking the sweater, Four grins and holds it to his front, checking out his reflection. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Dude, it was that or the Hannah Montana sweatshirt, alright? You got off easy.”

Shuddering at the thought, Four laughs and pulls the sweater on. When his head re-emerges, he finds Sam holding a photo under the faucet, face drawn down. Softly, carefully, Four asks, “So, uh, who’s in the picture?”

“My dad,” Sam tells him. He quickly amends. “My real one.”

Nodding his head at the picture, Four wonders, “Where was that taken?”

“Mexico. The Yucatán.” Sam says with a grin that’s small but more than enough for Four. “We uh, we used to go every year looking for evidence of ancient astronauts.”

“Ancient astronauts?”

“Yeah. UFOs and shit, freakshow stuff. He called himself an anthropologist. He was really just a foreman at the steel mill. He spent all his time preparing for some kind of alien arrival. Used to think he was a genius. Nobody wants to admit that their dad’s a freak.” He rips up the picture and tosses it away, sets up to leave.

Four reaches out for him, catches his elbow. “Sam, wait. Just hold on okay? Your dad’s not a freak and neither are you. No matter what Mark and his goons say, okay? It’s bullshit. And I’m not saying that to protect you or spare you. It’s true. I swear to you that it’s true. Because," Four realizes, "strange is just what life is. There's no one out there that isn't strange. If anything, you're pretty low on the weird scale."

“Yeah and what would you know about it, John?”

Four’s tempted to tell him everything. It’s a familiar feeling, the incredible want to let everything go and share his troubles, to be honest with someone and be understood. He’s never wanted anything more but looking into Sam’s questioning eyes that are both despondent and daring, he knows that he can’t. It wouldn’t right to be so selfish, not for a temporary gratification. Sam’s safety is worth more than that. Sam is worth more so he does something a little less stupid but just as freeing. 

Four steps into Sam’s space and presses his lips to the other boy’s. They’re slack under his and Four takes advantage, runs his tongue along the bottom lip and prompts Sam to open up for him. And when Sam does, Four fists his shirt and tugs Sam closer, flush against his chest. He lets himself have this, the taste of Sam’s mouth and tongue, the heat of his breath when they temporarily break apart only to join again.

Sam barely pulls away and Four burns down low looking into those dazed eyes, at those spit-slicked lips. 

“The bell’s gonna ring any second.”

“I know.”

With a breathless laugh and slight shiver, Sam tries again. “So do you mind…”

Four shakes his head. “No more talking.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I guess there are better uses for our mouths.”

Four smiles and dips his head, this time pressing his lips against the Sam’s jaw, his nose, the skin under his eye—all over before reaching his mouth again, sucking on his top lip softly with no intent of letting go.


End file.
